


Like The Opposite Of A Goodbye

by peterspajamas



Series: Half Angel Baby and Half Demon Dad [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Baby Jack Kline, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Sam Winchester, Light Angst, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Season/Series 13, Slice of Life, but also like, like you cannot hold a baby like that in a parking lot like that and be "fine"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29351529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas
Summary: Cas has barely been dead for a week. Dean has barely escaped from his spiral of pain, and Sam's been witness to it all.More importantly, he's been half-succeeding at taking care of a baby nephilim.
Relationships: Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Series: Half Angel Baby and Half Demon Dad [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156034
Comments: 11
Kudos: 75





	Like The Opposite Of A Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> BABY JACK AND SAM Y'ALL 
> 
> no warnings but: sam definitely has had some trouble with connection and probably depression in the past. nothing important though, or super significant (in this fic) and i guess it's canon dean so he isn't best dad. if that worries you, he's gonna get way better in the rest of the series! definitely break down crying! huddle over jack and whisper that he's family in all the ways that matter .

Babies, Sam thinks, are not really meant to be cooped up at home. At least, staring at Jack, Lucifer’s son and a kid who’s mostly just rolls of chub and smiles, with a little nose that scrunches up every time Sam touches him, that’s what he thinks. This baby is not meant to be inside.

Sam pokes at Jack’s stomach. He makes a little gurgling noise, rolling over with a soft thump. A smile ticks up the corner of Sam’s lips. “Alright then,” he whispers, scooping the baby up. A head of soft hair thunks onto his shoulders as Jack stares at the wall behind him. He does that a lot. It’s with this squinty eye look, focusing closely on whatever he sees.

For all Sam knows, it’s the archangel in him; Jack sees some space in between realities. Or maybe, and this makes his heart calm its pace, he has an imaginary friend.

“Sam?” Dean’s in the doorway to his room, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Where are you going?”

Sam’s hand reaches up, rubbing Jack’s back. He lets out a snuffling sigh. “He needs some clothes, I was going to pick some up. Are there any other errands that need to be run?” 

Sam pushes past him to the door, looking at his jacket and not Dean. “Really?” Dean’s voice sounds hollow.

“Yeah, I’ll get some eggs. Making chicken for dinner.” Sam grins at Jack, setting the little pile of baby on the chair as he fastens his shoes. Dean looms behind them. 

It takes less than 5 seconds to shove his shoes on and snatch Jack up again. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, man.” Dean trails after him. “We can’t trust it yet. The bunker is locked down, at least. Do your errands alone, okay?” he asks firmly.

There are now two options for Sam. Push the envelope or give in. Jack isn’t safe in the bunker, with Dean who’s more volatile than ever, and he’s not safe somewhere at daycare, where the demons have constant access. He’s safest with Sam. He hesitates, glancing down at Jack. He’s trying to grab Sam’s hair, now. “He’s already dressed, I’ll just take him out.”

“We  _ should  _ be taking it out in a different way,” Dean mutters.

Sam’s eyes flash. “Dean, I’m getting him clothes, alright? He can’t keep wearing the same stuff forever.” He shoulders through the door, cuddling Jack into his side, fumbling for his keys. All at once, like a clumsy charade that he doesn’t know the choreography to. 

Dean pads away, like a big tiger deciding the prey is too hard. Sam smiles slightly, rubbing at his face. He’s always the one picking his battles. God, this is just like Ruby. 

He shifts Jack up, kissing his forehead. “Just you and me, bud, huh?” They at least have a car seat. Got it somewhere between the altercation with the angels hunting the kid down and the bunker. “Don’t listen to him, okay?” 

Checking his mirrors, Sam leaves the garage. “He always says stuff like that. I got the treatment, too. Him  _ and  _ Dad. I can be your nice parent, though. Good cop bad cop sort of thing,” he says, voice fading. “Starting with some new clothes. You know, you could end up really fashionable.” He straightens. “I can do that for you.” 

Nothing. Babies don’t  _ talk _ , that’s pretty weird. “You okay?” Yeah, the kid’s okay. Sam so far has proved to be terrible at this- at nurturing, taking care of babies, whatever. He’s always tired and he has a week’s worth of scruff. Playing double duty on research and time with Jack. It’s…. 

Neither of them were cut out to be parents, exactly, but Dean has an easier time with bottles, formula. Diapers. Dean is spending all his time in his room, and when he does see Jack, he sometimes issues a warning to Sam, to watch his back. For a  _ baby _ . Sam doesn’t take it to heart. 

In all honesty, he doesn’t know if he even can. Apparently the power vacuum in hell is causing problems. Apparently he needs to learn everything from scratch. He’s too busy watching his back for real threats, and too tired from the everyday, to follow Dean’s direction. 

But fuck. He’s never been so focused. It’s been years. Usually, shit like this is a batting fly at his consciousness and he follows Dean’s lead. He follows him to the fucking letter, copies Dean as he cares about mom, about Cas, about the complicated webs of lies heaven and hell weave between each other. But Sam, deep down, doesn’t remember how to feel invested in shit like that. He doesn’t feel anything. Knee deep in the sticky mud and foggy air that hold him immobile, pretending to care from the outside.  _ Yes  _ and  _ no  _ and  _ grabbing an angel blade, scattering salt,  _ he’s competent at research but that’s all he is. It’s an either-or situation. Useful dead husk, or useless mess starting apocalypses and killing good things. 

Jack is a purpose. Sam hasn’t had one so persuasive in a long while.

He accelerates and Jack makes noises of glee, squealing in delight. A smile plays at Sam’s lips and they merge into the rest of the crowded, uniform traffic cruising down the highway. 

The grocery store is at least a mile and a half away. Sam doesn’t like the convenience ones right by the house- no tofu, nothing organic, and a paltry selection of anything that isn’t junk. He cranes his neck, ignoring the dog right outside his window, panting in the wind. He’s on the highway with a child in the car. No time for distractions. The next exit is the one he needs. The engine revs, he’s beginning the arduous process of merging back over. 

Jack’s fully silent now. He glances back to check, rolling his eyes when he remembers baby seats face backwards. He isn’t going to see a thing. “You doing alright, buddy?” he murmurs. The car finally gets past the unwieldy Volkswagen that’s crowding the far lane. “Yeah, good to hear,” he adds, chuckling at himself.

The car breaks free from highway traffic and he rolls through the main road, turning into the parking lot. When he glances in the mirror, he can just barely see a glimpse of Jack’s head. It’s sweet to see his kid like that- 

Sam jerks, slamming on the breaks.  _ His kid _ . The slimy voice of Lucifer creeps through his head, and he firmly ignores it. Jaw tightening, he finishes his parking job. “You’re my kid,” he whispers, forcing a grin. Jack mimics things- 

He’s been doing it since they found him at a police station, dropped off (or delivered, Sam’s never been sure) The seatbelt clicks and Sam plops Jack onto his shoulder again. His left hand, hovers over the little guy for a second, like he’s trying to make sure that Jack is safely nestled into him. Sam’s experience with babies is limited. He’s needed it a few times for cases. And Jess’ nephew was a newborn. 

Low and rough, a noise escapes from his throat. He sits there for a long minute, in the FoodMart parking lot, cradling Jack against his chest as a tiny little hand reaches for his hair again. “Don’t yank it out,” he chuckles, eventually. It doesn’t sound like him, and he winces as he grabs his reusable grocery bag. 

The grocery store has a monitor that beeps and lets out a robotic  _ welcome  _ when the doors slide open. Sam wants to curse it out. It doesn’t feel like something a dad should do. He isn’t a dad. He’s babysitting Lucifer’s kid, he isn’t a dad. He isn’t. 

Jack is curious and loud, in his seat at the front of the cart. Sam shows him every item and narrates, just in case he understands words, before putting it in. Sam thinks he could identify Jack from just the back of his fuzzy head in a lineup. Jack starts to doze halfway through the trip, but jerks awake, crying, when the intercom blares a request for an employee in the liquor department. Sam is the one who picks him up, rocking back and forth, as he quietly sniffles. 

As Jack begins to wail in response to the intercom, Sam slowly edges back, cart clanging loudly, to the side of the aisle. “Shh,” he whispers, rubbing Jack’s back. 

Even overwhelmed, though, he knows how to stay beneath peoples’ notice. He wants to laugh as shoppers pass him and the kid. The panic of having a crying infant has died down with Jack’s tears, as his miserable face turns to something a little calmer, quick breaths out and in. Sam’s still holding Jack, too, scared to set him down in case it makes him sad again. He doesn’t know what to do, really. It’s all a mystery. He settles for gingerly wiping at tearstains.

Sam feels fucking pathetic. Cradling a tiny half angel, trying to play good  dad  babysitter, like he knows at  _ all _ .

“Do you need any help, sir?” The muted tone almost escapes his notice, especially since the girl is barely 5 feet, but he does blink. 

“Help?” he parrots dumbly. 

“With checking out? Are you looking for anything in particular?” she replies. 

“Oh, no. I’m good, thank you.” He puts a hand on Jack’s head, scared she’ll recognize him. The concept is ridiculous. No one’s seen him before, save for the pair of angels that he’d banished while Dean fought the other one, and the sheriff and her son. No one knows Jack. 

“Thank you for shopping at FoodMart,” she says with a false smile. 

“Sure.” He squints down at Jack again, registering the fading footsteps and deeming it safe to relax in aisle… 10 again. Cans of beans, tomatoes, and peaches. “This is your fault,” he says, poking Jack’s little foot, covered by a white baby boot. “If I weren’t so tired, I’d be on my game.” 

He gets a coo in response. 

Sam is overwhelmed; exhausted. He’s overstressed and still grieving Cas. Scared about Dean’s reaction to Jack, scared about his own, hilariously inadequate approach to parenting-  _ caretaking _ . Sam is not okay. 

Something in him decides that he’s fiercely glad to be holding Jack anyway. Just him and the kid, in a grocery store, taking it one day at a time as Sam finds his feet once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> there's more to come! <3 comment if you liked it at all!!


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